


Orochimaru, Death God

by Tozette



Category: Bleach, Naruto
Genre: Crossover, Gen, blanket permission for podfic or translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tozette/pseuds/Tozette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orochimaru wakes up and finds that he is in a new body. Not that this is really weird for him, but he doesn’t remember this body at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orochimaru, Death God

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series of AU prompts from tumblr. Please don't forget to drop me a comment, ne? :3

 

Orochimaru wakes up and finds that he is in a new body. Not that this is really weird for him, but he doesn’t remember this body  _at all_. He doesn’t remember this place, either. People travel in huge metal boxes and he can’t feel a chakra signature  _anywhere_. Except his. His is there. It’s just… muted. 

Also it’s not working. He can’t move it properly. 

Which is awkward.

His mood doesn’t improve when he realises he has apparently taken the body of a kid with a family - mostly because he only realises it when his - brother?uncle? he hopes that’s not his  _father,_ dear god - tries to  _murder him in his bed_  with a flying kick and a scream of ‘GOOD MORNING, ICHIGO~’

Orochimaru twitches and slams him into the wall.

He discovers shortly after that he has two tiny sisters, one of whom is a deeply suspicious creature and thinks he’s acting strange. Good instincts, he thinks. 

The other looks at him like he hung the stars and calls him ‘Ichi-nii,’ which — is that supposed to be a joke?  _One-two?_

Gingerly, he pats her on the head and leaves for — school, he supposes. Except  _of course_  he’s not going to school.

But there’s no real reason to alert them to the situation. He may need to maintain cover as part of this family until he knows what’s going on.

* * *

His chakra turns out to be perfectly fine, it’s just that his new body is so incredibly inept at basic control it can barely function.

Even if he does find a way back to Sound - and, presumably, a more suitable host body - he’ll be hard-pressed to make the transfer technique work. 

Dammit.

* * *

It takes Orochimaru roughly twenty-four hours to find out that as far as this world is concerned,  _his_  world does not exist. 

Which is going to make getting back awfully difficult. 

Not impossible, of course. Nothing’s impossible. Not for him.

But…

Hmm.

* * *

It takes three days before something goes even further wrong. 

"Maa, Ichigo," murmurs a man who — for a second Orochimaru stares past the fan and thinks it’s  _Hatake Kakashi_ , but it’s not, not at all. 

It’s some moron in the ugliest hat he’s ever seen telling him that he’s late, and what was he thinking, and doesn’t he know he has to rescue R— Rukia? 

Who on earth is Rukia?

No, apparently the child whose body he’s inhabiting is a social butterfly. Not only does he have sisters and a father and school friends, he has a  _girlfriend_. 

A girlfriend. 

If this stupid brat had time to cultivate those kinds of bonds, Orochimaru thinks darkly, it’s a wonder he didn’t use it to train harder. Maybe then his chakra control wouldn’t be so  _absolutely abysmal_.

He contemplates, for a second, disappearing off the map. Running away. He could leave the country, leave the continent, devote himself to his research - it would hardly be the first time. 

He thinks about it, but then the man in the hideous hat is babbling, a kind of musical lulling babble, while he hides his face and — Orochimaru can almost feel him. He can almost taste the pressure of his chakra, if only his own control wasn’t so terrible —

The senkaimon looms. 

Ahh, thinks Orochimaru. Is this where all the people with real power have been hiding?

"All right," he says, ignoring the people who have shown up to follow him. The talking cat, he thinks, must be some kind of summon. Probably knowledgeable, but it doesn’t look like a combatant. Well, that’s fine. "Let’s go."

If nothing else, they’ll make convenient meat shields.

* * *

The girl isn’t an easy rescue, but he learns a lot while he’s doing it, and he has companions most of the way - all the better to throw in front of somebody else’s sword if he needs to. 

" _Bite_ ," he murmurs once, low and silky, to his giant useless meat cleaver, and — his zanpakutou takes poorly to being called  _Kusanagi_ at first, but by the time he finishes swinging it has changed to a long, elegant blade.

It cuts through anything. 

Given how many pointless fights of honour he finds himself drawn into, Kusanagi cuts through  _a lot._

Although he’s still pretty sure that bastard with the hair clips had it coming. 

* * *

The cat turns out not to be a summon after all. 

"You’re not blushing," she says, a little disappointed. " _So_ uncute."

* * *

But Orochimaru is thoroughly blindsided by that maniac with the glasses -  _presumed dead,_ of course he was, and what wouldn’t he give for an  _actually competent medic,_ he misses Kabuto, he misses  _pretty much anybody half-competent_ —

He poisons Hanatarou to see what it does. The boy’s a soul, after all. 

It’s less interesting than expected - the symptoms hardly differ: tremors, fever, convulsions, foaming at the mouth. All very pedestrian, really. 

But his temper is no longer quite so frayed, and the chaos it causes amuses him.

* * *

When he returns to Uruhara he waits for the rest to leave before he takes him by the throat, chakra pounding, fueling his limbs as he lifts him off the ground and bares his pointed teeth, and then it’s  _Orochimaru’s spirit seething, thick white tears hardening around his eye, a death’s head curving around his jaw —_

There is nobody to lash out at, except this man, who has information he is sure he’ll need. He is familiar with the worst of himself, has no moral feelings to speak of, cares nothing about the jagged edges in his own soul. He peels his mask away and shoves it, hard, against Uruhara Kisuke’s chest. 

"I do not like to be manipulated," he informs him softly. 

He lets him go. 

* * *

Uruhara Kisuke never, ever, forgets it. Orochimaru can see it in his expression, even if he thinks it’s covered. Civilians, he thinks disdainfully, although that’s not quite right either. 

These aren’t civilians. They’re just not ninja. They are like samurai, maybe - which is almost as bad, really. More honour than brains. 

It might be inconvenient, but Orochimaru likes knowing that Uruhara is wary of him. He likes seeing the uncertainty uncoil behind that too-knowing gaze. 

 _That’s right_ , he thinks, watching complacently while these children play under the supervision of the man in the hideous hat.  _You don’t manipulate people._

 _”_ We should probably find out if there are other places, too,” he says. “In case Aizen —”

"Un!" agrees the irritating girl with the orange-brown hair and the wide, wide eyes. Give him back Karin. Give him back  _Tsunade_. “If he can use the senkaimon —”

"He can’t."

"Something  _like_  the senkaimon, then,” Orochimaru says without missing a beat. “There appear to be several ways to travel between worlds. If each new world opens up possibilities for gathering resources, do you really think we should risk it? Do you really think Shinigami know everything there is to know?”

Kisuke’s eyes are narrowed, but he can hardly refuse. 

 _You don’t manipulate people,_ he thinks, settling back and letting the hard-eyed Quincy child make his argument for him, incensed by the implication of shinigami superiority. _ **I** manipulate people. _


End file.
